


Pretext

by quaffanddoff



Series: Give_Satisfaction [4]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Bisexual Characters, Blow Job, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, POV Original Female Character, POV Second Person, Seduction, Snowballing, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: While trying to seduce Bertie, you discover that his heart belongs to Jeeves. No problem—you can work with that.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster/Reader
Series: Give_Satisfaction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561192
Kudos: 21





	Pretext

Your mind races as you look down at the object in your hands. You are doing some very vigorous wrestling with an ethical dilemma (you have a somewhat…atypical relationship to traditional morality, so you find yourself doing so with greater frequency than most).

\- Reading other people’s diaries without their permission or knowledge is wrong.  
\- But all’s fair in love and war!  
\- But this isn’t love yet.  
\- But it’s got to get to that point somehow or another!  
\- But not through the flagrant violation of the sanctity of another’s innermost privacy.  
\- But those big blue eyes!

It is this last point that clinches it. 

You take a furtive glance over your shoulder, but you are quite alone in Bertie’s bedroom. He, like the rest of the guests at Toffordshire Abbey, is downstairs at dinner. Even his all-too-observant manservant is there helping with the service, so there is little chance of you getting caught. Jeeves has blue eyes, too, you’ve noticed, ones that roam about the place at all times taking in little details that others overlook and storing the information for some future manipulative machinations. You have a little bit of that tendency yourself, so you see him as something of a competitor, even though 1. you have no dispute with him and 2. he’s a valet while you are an aristocrat’s daughter. Not that that makes you better than him or something, not at all; it just means you have different privileges and different problems, with different stakes and different solutions.

For example, you are free to excuse yourself from the dinner table and sneak upstairs, while Jeeves has to stay downstairs and be available to assist at all times. That’s certainly a perk of your status, especially at this very moment.

You hold your breath and crack open the diary. You start skimming, but he has been keeping this diary for a long time and you’re doubtful that entries from three years ago will be useful to your current quest. You flip forward all the way to the latest entry, written only yesterday, as you can tell from the date atop the page. You start reading and your eyes begin to slowly widen. Your heart goes from woodpeckering to jackhammering.

Now _that_ is unexpected.

*

Bertie has money. That is not why you’re so interested in him; your family has money, too, and although you’re accustomed to a certain lifestyle, you’re not particularly materialistic. You’re interested in him _despite_ his money. You never spare a second glance for the other men in your social stratum, who are, without exception, dull, dim, self-absorbed, and shallow. Most of the women are too, but at least with them you have the chance of stumbling across the occasional personality or intellect. Plus, the women are generally better-looking, and of the surprising number who are game for it, they’re generally better at certain other pastimes of which you shan’t speak in polite society…

But despite Bertie’s unfortunate affluence, he’s been stuck in your mind lately because he’s got those blue eyes, and much more than that, he’s got that something else, that _je ne sais quoi_ that you usually only find in other aristocrats’ daughters, the ones who stay out late, seize any chance for adventure, and are too irrepressibly independent to conform, settle down, and marry like they’re expected to. In his own way, Bertie is rebellious. He’s not an egghead or a stud, a tycoon or a magnate. But he’s unique. He’s different. He’s a troublemaker, and lately you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to make some trouble with him.

The problem is, he hasn’t been at all receptive to your advances. You can hardly blame him, as it’s well-known that his insufferable relatives are constantly trying to marry him off to the first eligible adult female who will stand still long enough to bung her into the white dress. Your family is nowhere near as bad, but as you progress through your 20s, the pressure to marry has risen steadily. You’re confident you won’t be forced to do anything you don’t want to, but it would please them rather, as well as take the heat off of you, if you picked someone just for the sake of appearances and at least had a sort of marriage of convenience. From the outside it would appear to be a traditional arrangement, but you wouldn’t impose on each others’ lives or freedom or have any expectations of fidelity or the like. Consummation of marital relations would be…an option.

So Bertie thinks you’re sniffing about, and he’s right because for once you actually _do_ have marriage on the mind, just not in the way he thinks. You suspect he may be interested in what you have to propose, if only you could get him to listen. But he’s been skirting your attempts to parley like ant avoids anteater.

Hence, this diary scheme. You’re looking for something, anything, that could aide you in your seduction efforts. That’s why you snuck away to ransack the room as quickly and thoroughly as you could, until you stumbled upon this jackpot.

And what a pot! You flip backwards, through months, years, pages and pages of…

Jeeves.

Turns out the man is in secretly love with his manservant. Not just familial, fraternal, chummy love, but rather, romantic, passionate, physical love, expressed floridly in such detailed, explicit prose that some passages make even you blush.

Well, well, well.

You shove the diary back into its hiding place and scurry out of the room. You close the door silently and have taken a step away when you hear a quiet cough. You whirl around and see Jeeves himself, damn him, coming around a corner. You’re pretty sure he didn’t see you exit the room but still, you hope he doesn’t see you standing in front of Bertie’s door and the guilty look on your face and put two and two together. He stands respectfully at attention.

“Good evening, miss. Are you in need of any assistance?”

“Oh, er, no, Jeeves, just stepped away to powder my nose, and—no, thank you, Jeeves.”

He inclines his head. “Very good, miss.” He floats away, as inscrutable as ever.

How did he even manage to get away from dinner? You watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and admiration. You could really learn a thing or two from that man.

*

“Bertie! So glad I stumbled upon you! Talk a stroll with me this evening, won’t you?”

“Oh, well, ah, er. Jolly good!”

Your supposedly “accidental” meeting the next night was far from such. You had stalked him like a dratted private eye, employing a few of your own characteristically nimble wheezes to arrange for the two of you to be alone in the sitting room late after dinner. Now, you slip your arm into his and steer him toward the most deserted wing of the giant manor. You can tell the physical contact increases his nervousness, but it must be borne. 

You start with some small talk. You bond over your shared disdain of your hosts, an ancient, dreadful old couple who are mutual friends with both of your families, and that relaxes him a bit. You ask him a few questions about Jeeves which he is all too eager to answer, and he launches into improbable but entertaining accounts of adventure, peril, near-misses, and last-minute rescues. You eventually end up telling him the story of the last time your equestrian team went out drinking after the big tournament, and soon he’s grinning, then chuckling, then by the end, outright howling. It really is a cracking story, though unfortunately there’s no time to tell it here.

“That really is a cracking story!” Bertie says, wiping away a tear of mirth. You can’t recall seeing him enjoy himself this much since…well, ever, in fact. Although he has a reputation for frivolity and gaiety, he is actually somewhat standoffish. He often seems preoccupied, wary. After what you read, you think you understand why. Much of what he wrote was about how hard it is to carry such a heavy secret alone.

By this time, your stroll has brought you back to the corridor where the guests’ bedrooms are located. You pause outside his room and turn to face him as the sound of his laughter fades. Your arms are still linked together loosely and you stand a little closer than is strictly necessary. You can smell his fragrant cologne. You have to tilt back a bit to look him in the eye because he’s quite a bit taller than you, and when you do, you see that a shy little blush accents his handsome face. He has terrific cheekbones, a little too sharp for some people’s tastes perhaps, but perfect for your own. His shyness, his angular features, his lofty height, his chestnut hair, his blue eyes of course…he’s quite a charming package, all wrapped up for you in a dapper suit, which was no doubt laid out for him by his valet. You feel a little envious of Jeeves, getting to be the object of his affection. If Jeeves doesn’t return the sentiment to some degree, then he’s not half as intelligent as he’s reputed to be.

Bertie holds your gaze; you can tell he’s on edge, but he doesn’t back down, and you begin to think the man has more nerve than you originally supposed. 

“You know, [Reader], you must be the most intriguing filly I’ve encountered in quite some time. Not just fillies, colts, too. Anyone.”

“Thanks awfully. I must say the same about you.”

“Me?” he scoffs. “No, I’m afraid to say there’s nothing too remarkable about this Wooster. I’m about as unique as a doppelgänger. You, though, you’re quite exceptional.”

“I disagree,” you say, moving imperceptibly closer. “Well, not that I’m not exceptional. That I am. But there’s more to you than it appears, I can tell.”

He fidgets, unable to accept the compliment. “There’s just me. I’m all I am.”

“And I couldn’t ask for more,” you say, reaching out to his shoulders. He flinches slightly at the contact but places his hands lightly on your waist. He looks surprised by himself even as he leans in.

As you come together, you feel a thrill that you can tell is mutual. The kiss is quite lovely. Your lips and his move slowly, synchronously, your hands clutching at one another. You fit together splendidly. 

This is all going much better than you had hoped based on what you had read. He may have the tender pash for his man, but it seems he has the capacity for some tenderness toward this woman, as well.

Without breaking the embrace, you push open the door with a foot and pull him into his room. Blindly, you kick the door shut behind you and deepen the kiss.

Even though this was all part of your plan, you’re still startled by Jeeves’s gentle cough.

*

Bertie jerks away from you with a guilty jolt. This is as flustered as you have ever seen Jeeves—that is to say, not much, but almost nearly visible. He appears to have been in the middle of straightening up the wardrobe.

“I beg your pardon, sir, miss,” he murmurs as he swiftly sets aside his work and moves to oil out the door.

Bertie can only gape in silence, but you chirp brightly, “No problem, Jeeves! I say, would you please bring us a bottle of wine?”

He hesitates only a moment before replying, “Certainly, miss,” and departs. 

You reach for Bertie again but his fluster is perfectly visible. “Oh, that was terribly embarrassing! How inappropriately we acted. I hope he wasn’t too offended.”

“Nonsense,” you say dismissively, “why would he be?”

“Why would he be?” Bertie repeats in disbelief. “You bally well are a remarkable girl.”

You pounce on him again and although he feels uncertain, he can’t seem to pull himself away. You introduce a nibble of his lip and he relents. You’re still at it when Jeeves returns. Bertie disengages again, though not as expeditiously as the first time. Jeeves pointedly avoids noticing what you were just doing.

“Thanks, Jeeves,” you say, still acting like nothing unusual is happening. The valet looks on disapprovingly as you take up the task of pouring the wine yourself. You pour out three glasses and hand one to him.

“That’s very kind of you, miss, but I must decline.”

“Oh, do go on!”

“I’m sorry, miss, it would not be proper to imbibe while on duty.”

“Get off duty, then.”

“No, miss.”

“Oh, all right,” you concede. Disapproval is radiating off him in waves. “Don’t let us keep you from your task, then.” You nod toward the wardrobe, prompting him to get back to straightening up.

You fancy that you can see the turmoil within him: torn between objecting to the improperness of remaining in the presence of a canoodling unmarried pair and not wanting to abandon his duties. Duty wins out, and he busies himself with the wardrobe. 

You sit Bertie on the edge of his own bed with his wine and perch next to him with yours. He is still visibly uncomfortable, so you chitchat with him softly, trying to relax him, finding excuses to touch his shoulder or knee. His eyes keep drifting over to the wardrobe. He must feel odd being intimate with someone else in front of his love.

You politely request that Jeeves fetch you an extra pillow and he biffs off again.

“Your man does a lot for you, doesn’t he?” you ask carefully.

“Oh yes, he’d do anything for me. Nearly anything, I suppose.”

“He seems terribly concerned with what is and isn’t proper, though.”

“Indeed, he is filled to the brim with the feudal spirit.”

“I bet that gets in the way sometimes.”

“What do you m…?” he begins slowly, but trails off as Jeeves re-enters, carrying the requested pillow.

“Much obliged, Jeeves. Could you please place it on the floor at Bertie’s feet?” you ask innocently. He complies without question.

You gather your courage, dismount from the bed, and kneel on the pillow facing Bertie. Your head is now level with his lap. You run your hands up and down his thighs. He is too stunned to object. You apply the remaining reserves of your courage toward reaching up and undoing his trousers.

The tension in the room is palpable.

You manage to keep your voice neutral. “Jeeves, could you give me a hand with your master’s clothing?” 

The turmoil is there, suffusing his demeanor, now closer to the surface than ever. “…Miss?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

He makes up his mind. “Very good, miss.” He does as you requested quickly and clinically. The two men don’t make eye contact. You can practically hear each of their minds whirring frantically. 

“Stay close by in case I need you again, won’t you?”

“As you say, miss.”

Bertie’s trousers are open, revealing a glimpse of fabric underneath. You move in closer, pull up Bertie’s shirt slightly, and drape yourself upon his lap to kiss his firm stomach, following the trail of sparse hair from navel down toward the waistband. His ragged breathing catches when your mouth reaches the burgeoning harness beneath the remaining layer of material. You continue teasing, coaxing it to grow. You can’t actually see Jeeves standing off to the side, but you know he’s watching. After enough enticement, you pull Bertie’s now impressively stiff length out into view.

“Jeeves, would you please assist me with this?”

The last piece of your plan falls into place as he drops to his knees beside you and, wordlessly, obediently, takes Bertie into his mouth.

Bertie’s head falls back; he gasps. His hands, which had been gripping the edge of the bed tighter and tighter, release the sheets and curl instead around the back of Jeeves’s head. 

You begin to whisper instructions, telling Jeeves how deep to go, how hard to suck, where to swirl his tongue. You use Bertie’s helpfully and delightfully vocal reactions to guide your directions. You tell him to use his hand, to speed up, to thrust further down his throat. 

At first, you stay close; you get the feeling that you’re the excuse, the rationalization for this new behavior; this only makes sense with you, would all fall apart without you. You work as a team, adding your own spit to the wet mess Jeeves is creating. You lick at the bollocks while Jeeves works the shaft. At your command, he takes it all the way down, nose buried in the thatch of hair at the base, and you kiss his full, bulging throat. When he comes back up for air, you kiss his lips. He kisses back hungrily, showing that he is also a man capable of a variety of attractions. You grab his arse firmly and pull his hips to grind with yours. When he starts to miss Bertie’s taste, he twines a rough hand in your hair and pulls you away so he can dive back in and continue what he started.

Eventually, they get so swept up that you can back off and leave them to it. You get up and go lie close by on the bed, watching the dark head move in the live lap, listening to the groans rise in pitch and volume, the noises of slurping and suction and humming. You focus on the sights and sounds before you and let your hand, reaching under your own dress, take care of the feeling. Somewhere low between Bertie’s legs, Jeeves’s clever right hand must be doing something similar; you can’t quite see from this angle, but whatever it is makes him twitch and moan.

Losing control suits Bertie beautifully. He is shaking, overstimulated, insensate. He is captivating when debauched. As he approaches his peak, his hips roll, snapping into Jeeves’s mouth, and he alternates mumbling both of your names. He holds Jeeves’s head in place and gasps out his completion. He shudders and lays back, panting, his head landing in your lap. Your hand is still busy there and he shifts over to watch you with glazed eyes as he comes back down to earth. 

Holding fast to Bertie’s hips, Jeeves has drunk him down with the expert proficiency he brings to the performance of all his duties.

Or has he? When Jeeves stands up, his mouth is carefully closed. He kisses you again but this time you taste a bitter viscosity. He lets it drip into your mouth. You’re shocked as much by his audacity as by the wave of arousal it gives you. You swallow and feel yourself blushing.

Ever considerate, he offers to attend to you next and starts to lift your dress. Instead, you affectionately wipe the corner of his mouth and tell him to lie back on the bed. You kiss Bertie once more to re-energize him and command him to return the favor he has just received.

“What about you, [Reader]?”

“I’m going to bed,” you say, reluctantly rising and straightening up your appearance in case you encounter anyone whilst sneaking back to your own room. They flatter you by making disappointed sounds. There is a lot more you want to say to them, do with them, and watch them do, so you really don’t want to leave. But you know that, at least this first time, you need to give them space to acknowledge what’s going on between them without having your presence as a pretext. You’ve helped them take the crucial first step; the rest is up to them. “We will definitely talk again soon,” you promise with a wink.

You’re looking forward to seeing what they think of your marriage-of-convenience plan. Something tells you to anticipate a positive reception. Knowing that it could possibly consist of more nights like this has redoubled your own enthusiasm for it. 

“Well, if you must, old thing! Toodle-oo!”

“Thank you very much, miss. Good night.”


End file.
